


On the Rocks

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Rock Hard and Cummintonite [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Ice Play, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Porn With Plot, Temperature Play, Voyeurism, and there are feelings too, archy kind of really wants to sub for merlin, but he doesnt yet, edging but not really so its closer to generic orgasm delay, eggsy is kind of creepy but he means well, thorough discussion of kink and safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Archy sees Harry and Merlin for a second time. And this time he gets to tie Harry up.





	On the Rocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stravaganza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/gifts), [unicornspaceinvasion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornspaceinvasion/gifts).



> A million thanks to stravaganza and unicornspaceinvasion, not only for being enablers but also for beta-ing the sex scene (so about half the fic lol). 
> 
> I want to add, you really shouldn't drink at all while negotiating kink, but I felt this particular scenario made sense. Enjoy people having sex and feelings, and ignore my shitty puns (actually don't because I love my shitty puns).
> 
> I'm not completely well-versed in kink, so if I haven't tagged something important or if I've done something way wrong, let me know (nicely) in the comments.

Half an hour isn’t really all that long. From the Speeler, it’s just long enough to wash his hands, tuck his gun back into the waistband of his trousers, and get to the bar if he tells his driver to break a few traffic laws. Doesn’t mean he’s not nervous. He’s never worn his gun in front of Harry or Merlin, and he’s not sure how well a pair of tailors will take finding out about that. At least there’s no blood on his hands this time. He doesn’t like getting messy if he can avoid it. Neither did Lenny, of course, but it meant different things for them. Lenny had Archy to do the messy work. Archy still does his own heavy hitting (when Johnny isn’t doing it), but he uses it less. There are plenty of ways to make people talk that don’t involve him having to bribe the drycleaners.

Merlin and Harry are waiting for him when he gets to the bar. They’re sitting on the same side of the table, hardly touching except for the barest brush of their shoulders in a gesture Archy recognizes as their version of PDA. They’re not the most demonstrative couple, but they’re clearly affectionate in their own way. It’s sweet, really. It’s the sort of domesticity that Archy has always craved, if only because he knows he can’t have it.

He slides into the seat opposite them. “Afternoon.”

Harry smiles, and although Merlin doesn’t, Archy gets the feeling he’s pleased to see him anyway. “Would you like a drink?” Harry asks him.

Archy tilts his head. “Thought you said ropes were an option tonight?”

“Not ropes,” Harry says. “They chafe too much. I prefer scarves. But bondage is definitely on the menu, should you be interested.”

Archy is interested. He folds his hands together, lacing his fingers. “You really sure we should be drinking before that?” he asks.

“One is fine,” Merlin speaks. He’s studying Archy in that way of his, like it’s second nature to always be watching. It should be unnerving, having someone tracking his every move, but somehow it doesn’t bother him all that much. Probably because it’s Merlin. “It should leave your system by the time we actually make it to bed, and I’m not drinking at all so I can keep an eye on you two.” He glances at Harry, who rolls his eyes.

“Alright then,” Archy says. “I’ll have a drink.” They did meet at a bar, after all. And his tolerance is high. One won’t hurt.

Harry gets up to order for them, leaving Archy and Merlin at the table alone. The bar is mostly clear, the only other patrons on the other side of the room, so their conversation is safe from prying ears. Merlin tilts his head in a way Archy recognizes from the mirror, and he marvels, not for the first time, at the similarities between them. It’s no wonder Harry is so intrigued. Archy is as well, of course. Merlin is an intriguing man on his own, but the similarities to Archy are uncanny, and not just in terms of appearance. That’s probably why he tends to feel safe around Merlin, even where he would be worried around anyone else.

“We’re trusting you,” Merlin says in a low voice, and Archy leans forward slightly, recognizing the seriousness that blankets the table. “Should you break that trust, I want you to know that I am not afraid of you, and I will protect Harry at any cost. Is that understood?”

Archy blinks, and then grins slowly. “I’d expect nothing less,” he says, “but isn’t it a little late for this conversation?”

“Last time was different,” Merlin says. “Last time my husband wasn’t tied up. He could fight back if he wanted, and believe me, he can fight when he wants to. This takes infinitely more trust, and while I do trust you, we both do, I need you to know that I would move heaven and earth to keep Harry safe, and if that means hurting you before you can hurt him, so be it.”

Archy has given more speeches like that than he can count. Well, not exactly like that, not the world’s most ominous, clearly-not-joking shovel talk, but threatening speeches are right up his alley. So he believes Merlin completely, recognizes all the little things in his voice and his face that tell him that Merlin means, one hundred percent, what he is saying. More than that, it sends a little thrill of fear down his spine, not enough for him to be deterred, certainly not enough to truly frighten him, but enough that he feels it. He’s never scared, not like that, not of other people and definitely not of a man whose main job, from Archy’s understanding, is to sit in front of a computer all day looking at spreadsheets.

Surprisingly, it – the fear, not the spreadsheets - makes Archy’s cock twitch in his trousers, and he subtly adjusts himself. Interesting. Danger isn’t usually a turn-on for him. Then again, men like Merlin aren’t usually his type. And while he may have started this because Harry does happen to be his type, Archy has had a month to reflect on their encounter, and he knows himself well enough to know that it’s not just Harry that got him off last time.

Harry sits back down, sliding Archy his drink and taking a sip of his own. He glances at Merlin, and something passes between them. Then he looks back at Archy. “So. I suppose we should start with safewords?”

“Good a place as any,” Archy agrees. He tears his eyes away from Merlin and focuses in on Harry. “Given that you’re the one being tied up, do you have any preference for safewords?”

“When Merlin and I do this sort of thing, we usually use the traffic light system. Is that acceptable?”

“Depends on what else we’re doing,” Archy says. “If it’s just a bit of light bondage, that’s fine, but anything more and I’d like something a bit more obvious, if that’s alright with you.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “What makes you think you’d be doing anything more?”

“I’m not expecting anything,” Archy tells him quickly. “Just, from my experience, people who actively enjoy being tied down tend to want a little more than that.”

“Do you want more?” Harry asks coyly, and when Archy looks back to him he’s biting his lip, and Archy’s cock twitches again because that is absolutely deliberate. Harry knows exactly what he’s doing.

He has a split second to chose between bravado and obliviousness. He choses the latter, ignoring his cock and saying casually, “I’m not interested in hitting you, if that’s what you’re asking. Impact play does very little for me.” It’s too similar to what he has to do for work, and despite what people say about him, he’s not a sadist. He doesn’t get off on violence. If Harry was very interested, if it was a deal breaker to say no, he thinks he’d be willing to try, but it’s not something he’s going to suggest doing.

He wonders if he’s imagining the flicker of relief in Harry’s eyes. It’s gone before he can confirm, and Harry drops the false bashfulness and asks, “Then what are you interested in?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Archy counters, and it seems like the right thing to say because Merlin’s shoulders, which had been creeping up subtly with tension, relax minutely.

Harry glances at his partner, trading another look that Archy can’t interpret, and then turns back to him. “I want to know.”

Archy waits a heartbeat, and then says, “Sensory play. Edging. That sort of thing. Making you feel things you didn’t know your body _could_ feel. Making you want more.”

He watches Harry swallow, and thinks briefly of wrapping his fingers around the tailor’s throat, not pressing down or constricting his windpipe like he so easily could, but having Harry bare his neck to Archy’s hand, trusting him not to bring pain but pleasure. Then he tamps down that thought because he doesn’t want to sit through this conversation with an erection. Christ, his body hasn’t been this responsive since he was in his twenties.

“And have you done that before?” Merlin asks.

“Yeah, I have,” Archy says, turning away from Harry. “There’s a club I’ve been to, a few times. Set up for playing like that. I don’t like to do it with anyone inexperienced, mind you. Can be tricky, and people don’t always know their boundaries. Not exactly one-night-stand material.” He bites back the familiar guilt that wells up, because he’s not going to keep blaming himself for that. It hadn’t been his fault.

“No, it isn’t,” Merlin agrees. He curls his hand around Harry’s wrist where it’s sitting on the table, a clearly possessive gesture. “What makes you think it’s appropriate now?”

Archy shrugs. He understands the point Merlin is trying to make. “I trust you,” he says. “Harry made it clear that he, at the very least, has some experience with…less than vanilla sex, and I’m assuming you do as well. If you aren’t interested, then of course we don’t do it. I would be perfectly happy just tying Harry up and having my way with him. No need to get wax or ice or anything fancy involved.”

Harry makes a sound in the back of his throat and looks pleadingly towards Merlin. Archy leans back and takes a sip of his drink. The ball is in Merlin’s court again, and oh is he enjoying this game.

“Harry and I have done similar things in the past,” Merlin allows eventually. “He doesn’t like wax. Ice is definitely an option, though, he likes that.” He glances towards Harry, as if checking that his assessment is correct, and Harry gives the tiniest of nods. Merlin continues, “What’s your interest in edging versus forced orgasms? That’s-”

“Making him come until he literally can’t anymore?” Merlin nods. Harry stiffens, and Archy takes note of it. “I’ve done both,” he says carefully. “I’ve had the latter done to me once, but I don’t prefer to be on that end of it. Harry?”

He flushes, and Merlin’s grip on his wrist softens, his thumb stroking lightly over the skin. “I like both,” he mumbles. He gains more confidence as he adds, “Usually it depends on what sort of mood I’m in.”

“Are you in the mood for either tonight?”

“Nothing formal,” Harry says. “If you wanted to edge me a bit I’d be fine with it, but I’d prefer the focus be the sensory play. Is that alright?”

“You’re running this show,” Archy tells him. For all the back and forth between him and Merlin, what it largely comes down to is whatever Harry wants. “What you say goes. Of course,” he adds, twisting his lips into a grin, “if you’re ever in the mood for a more concrete session of either, let me know. I’d love to have you under my hand properly.”

“You will tonight,” Harry promises. “Just not like that.” He smiles too.

Archy takes another sip of his drink. Someday he’s going to ask if Harry and Merlin have any interest public sex. Despite the distance they keep in public, they clearly have the neat voyeurism/exhibitionism thing down in the bedroom, and Archy would really like to take Harry out to a club sometime, tie him up, maybe blindfold him, and make everyone else watch how well he takes cock. The fantasy becomes even hotter when he pictures Merlin there too, and this time adjusting himself in his trousers does little to relieve the growing ache.

Merlin’s eyes narrow slightly, a playful smile just barely tugging at his lips, and Archy realizes Merlin knows exactly what is going on and isn’t deterred by it. He might have to ask about taking sex out of the bedroom sooner, rather than later.

But he’s not going to ask now. He clears his throat instead. “So,” he addresses Harry, and is pleased when his voice doesn’t betray him, “We’re going to take you home, Merlin and I are going to bind you to your bed, I’m going take a bowl of ice to all your most sensitive parts until you’re begging me to make you come, and then I’m going to fuck you. Is that the plan?”

Harry and Merlin both nod. “Merlin will show you how I like to be tied,” Harry says. “And he’ll be watching, of course. Making sure you respect it if I safeword.”

Archy tries not to let the hurt show on his face. He isn’t a monster. He knows the difference between sex and rape, knows the line between torturing someone for information and playing their body for pleasure. He stays on the right side of that line. He’d never bring it into the bedroom. And the fact that they don’t even know what he does and still don’t think he’ll stop…it hurts, badly. Cuts straight to his core.

As if reading his mind, Harry reaches across the table and places a hand over his. Archy looks down at it, and then back up at Harry, who’s expression is so incredibly earnest. “That’s just a precautionary measure,” Harry says. “We trust you. You know he’s really watching because it turns him on to see you with me.”

Archy manages a smile. He’s not entirely reassured, but it’s nice of Harry to try. “Come on,” he says. “Why don’t we move this party back to your place?” He’s not ready to start just yet. There’s none of the desperation of last time, and he’ll need a bit more preparation for this. They have time.

His cock is mercifully dormant again, so he has no problem standing up with Harry and Merlin when they silently agree.

As they go to leave, the back of Archy’s neck prickles, and he finally notices the kid who has been watching them. He’s by the bar, but he’s subtly sneaking glances at them, watching their reflections in the mirror. Archy would applaud him – it’s part of his job to notice suspicious things, like strangers staring at him, and he missed this kid entirely – but the kid looks like he’s sucking on a lemon, not-so-hidden anger written all over his face.

That’s not a good sign, and Archy catalogues the kid as best he can: dressed as impeccably as Harry, his dirty-blond hair parted the same way, a pair of glasses like the ones Harry sometimes wears tucked into his suit pocket but no sign he actually needs them, same odd callouses on his dominant hand that Harry has (gun callouses, his mind tells him, but it doesn’t make sense for a tailor to have those), and a dozen other little details that could help Archy to identify him later. People don’t generally look at him like that for nothing, and if there’s going to be any sort of threat against him, he needs to know who’s holding the gun, so to speak. The fact that he looks an awful lot like a miniature version of Harry raises another warning bell, although this one is tinged more with confusion.

He places his hand on the small of Harry’s back and makes eye contact with the kid in the mirror, daring him to cause a scene. The kid looks away.

He looks familiar, oddly enough. Archy just wishes he could place him. He supposes it could be the resemblance to Harry, but that doesn’t feel quite right.

Then he forgets about the kid altogether as Harry waves down a cab and they climb into the backseat. There’s no climbing into each other’s laps this time, although Harry does settle his head on Archy’s shoulder. Archy looks across him at Merlin, who is smiling fondly at Harry. Archy reaches around Harry, trying to make the gesture look casual, and rests his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin looks up at him, curious, and Archy tries to convey without words how much this all means to him. They’re inviting him into their home, and once could have been casual, but this feels like something more.

He might be reading too much into it. He hopes he’s not.

And maybe Merlin sees all that in his eyes, because he tilts his head and gives Archy a little half smile.

When they arrive, they don’t linger in the hall like last time, either. Instead, Archy gives Merlin his coat when the other man offers to hang it up, and he toes out of his shoes and follows Harry upstairs to the bedroom. No one is running, clothes aren’t dropping to the floor. It’s casual and unhurried, and it sets Archy at ease.

Harry takes a seat on the bed, folding one leg over the other. Merlin comes in behind Archy and stands by the door, leaving Archy caught somewhere between the two. He angles himself so his back isn’t completely to Merlin, and says, “I want to clarify safewords.”

“Right,” Harry says, like he’s just remembering. “You said anything more than light bondage and you wanted a more concrete safeword than the traffic lights.”

“I’m sure they work for you,” Archy says hurriedly, “But I’d like something a little more recognizable, if that’s alright. You can still use yellow if you want to pause, but I’d like you to pick something else in place of a hard stop.”

Harry and Merlin share a look, and then Harry says, “Prague. When Merlin and I do anything especially heavy, that’s my safeword.”

“Perfect,” Archy says. “And you’ll actually use it?”

“If I want you to stop, I’ll say ‘Prague,’” Harry agrees. “If I want to pause and renegotiate what you’re doing, I’ll say ‘yellow.’”

Archy nods. He glances towards Merlin, who is watching, as always. He’s trusting them here as much as they’re trusting him. Archy swallows the guilt again. He knows what it feels like to not have someone safeword when they need to. It’s a horrible feeling, and why he never plays with novices anymore. He doesn’t want that to happen with Harry.

“Relax,” Merlin murmurs, and Archy is used to being unreadable but it doesn’t bother him that that doesn’t seem to apply to Merlin. Merlin nudges him forward with a nod of his head as Harry scoots back on the bed a little, unfolding his legs and spreading them invitingly so Archy can stand between them, one knee on the bed to give him leverage over Harry, and Harry grins up at him and bites his bottom lip in that stupidly seductive way of his.

Merlin rests a hand possessively on the back of Archy’s neck. His grip doesn’t hurt, but it is clearly dominating. It sends more of those shivers down Archy’s spine, and he really needs to do some self-reflection because submission is not his style – he’s tried submitting before, and it always leaves an uncomfortable itching under his skin and a heaviness in the pit of his stomach – and yet in that moment, all he wants to do is slide to his knees and kiss Merlin’s figurative shoes. Then Merlin’s hand is sliding down his back, untucking his shirt from his trousers and pulling the gun from his waistband.

Archy panics. He’d completely forgotten he’d been carrying the weapon, and he opens his mouth to explain, to reassure, but his normally silver tongue fails him and he can’t find the words.

Oddly enough, as he plucks the gun out of Merlin’s hands, Harry looks completely unconcerned by its presence. He turns the weapon over, then looks back up at Archy. “What did you say your job was, again?” he asks, and there’s an odd note in his voice that Archy can’t identify.

He hesitates, and then takes the gun back from Harry. “I didn’t.” He sets it on the floor and nudges it under the bed with his foot so it’s out of reach. “I’ll just leave it here, if that’s alright?”

Merlin picks it up again. “Not the place to leave a weapon,” he says. “I’ll put it away. Remind me to give it back before you leave.”

They’re remarkably calm about this, and it would be alarming if it wasn’t just confusing. Tailors shouldn’t be so casual about live weapons in the house. Archy knows he isn’t imagining the expert way Merlin thumbs the safety as he walks away, checking that it’s on, and examines the magazine. He thinks about the callouses on Harry’s hands, not the sort a tailor should have, and the gears in his mind begin to turn.

But before he can contemplate it too thoroughly, Harry pulls his attention back, turning his head and catching his lips in a soft, exploratory kiss, like he’s refamiliarizing himself with Archy’s mouth. Archy cards his fingers through Harry’s hair and leans into it, and Harry drags Archy down more properly on top of him. Archy’s cock slowly starts to perk up again in interest as Harry rolls his hips up against him, moaning in satisfaction. Archy can feel Harry’s arousal, farther along than he is, the firm bulge growing beneath his zipper as he grinds up against Archy. “Get your trousers off,” he more suggests than demands, and Archy isn’t entirely certain what has Harry riled up this much so quickly, but he is not at all opposed.

He seriously considers reaching for his buckle for a split second, before Merlin’s hand is back on his neck and Archy leaps off Harry, jumping back away from the bed like he’s been burned. He just manages to conceal a blush as he looks back at Merlin, who releases him and tilts his head, like he’s filing that information away for later. A small part of Archy is terrified at the thought, but another part, surprisingly, hopes he is.

But he also wants to get back on the right footing, and so Archy straightens his shoulders and meets Merlin’s gaze head on, chin up. A smirk plays at Merlin’s lips as he recognizes the game, but all he says is, “I’d hoped we were going to get to tying Harry up at some point tonight, but if you two can’t wait for it…”

Archy shrugs, and as casually as he can manage says, “Can you really blame me? When the little slut spreads his legs, it’s hard to ignore.” He doesn’t think he’s crossed a line with the language – Merlin referred to Harry as a slut last time – but he watches for their reactions just to make sure.

He can hear Harry bite back a moan, and Merlin’s smirk grows wider. “Fair enough,” he says. “Hard to resist a bitch in heat, isn’t it?”

Archy is pretty sure it’s getting warmer in the bedroom. Either that or he and Merlin are drifting closer together, drawn like magnets, burning so hot they’re about to spark if they make contact. “I’m only human,” he says, channelling every ounce of control he has into the words. “And he’s like a goddamn siren. Haven’t been able to get off for a month without thinking about his throat milking me, his arse wrapped so tight around my cock I thought I was going to come the second I got inside him. And he loves it, doesn’t he? Just begs for more like a filthy slut.”

Harry keens at the language, but Archy barely hears it. Merlin’s tongue swipes along his lip, and Archy follows it with his eyes and swallows hard, before Merlin says, “He gets so needy. You’ve only been with him once, you have no idea. Walking in on him, two fingers and a toy up his arse, positively dripping with lube because he’s so desperate for it he can’t wait until you get home. Waking up in the middle of the night with the sweetest warmth wrapped around your cock because he needed it too badly to bother waking you up first. Pounding him into the mattress two or three times in a night and then having to stuff your fist up his arse afterwards because he’s _still_ not satisfied.” Merlin groans low in his throat, his eyelids fluttering shut for an instant before he locks eyes with Archy. “Do you have any idea how hard I get just thinking about it?”

Archy recognizes the game for what it is and breaks first, seizing Merlin’s hand and dragging it across the front of his trousers to press against the tent at his crotch that’s only gotten harder and more uncomfortable the longer the other man spoke. “You make me so fucking hard,” he hisses against Merlin’s lips. “It’s not just Harry, it’s you too, and I don’t care if that makes me vain or egotistical because I am so. Fucking. Turned. On.” He grinds Merlin’s hand against him, a sweet pressure against his aching erection. He half expects Merlin to gasp in surprise. Harry would.

But Merlin doesn’t make a sound. He just takes Archy’s other hand, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle, and brings it to the front of his own trousers. His eyes are dark, and this close Archy can see every shift of the light that makes them glitter. “You’re not the only one,” he murmurs.

Harry coughs. “If you two don’t start snogging, I’m going to be incredibly disappointed.”

Archy glances back at Harry, still on the bed with his legs spread, only now he’s rubbing his cock through his trousers, which look so constricting that Archy’s erection throbs in sympathy. He looks to Merlin again, who considers him for a moment before yanking his hands away and seizing Archy’s face, dragging him into one of the filthiest kisses Archy has ever had the pleasure of participating in. He thinks briefly that someone should call Johnny to write a song about how sinful Merlin’s tongue is, twisting in his mouth and swiping along the backs of his teeth skilfully, and then Archy stops thinking about his surrogate son and business partner altogether because all he can think about is Merlin’s talented mouth on his cock. What those lips would feel like wrapped around him. How efficiently Merlin could put that tongue to use, teasing out all the sensitive spots and exploiting them with the same determination he’s using now. Or better yet, showing Merlin he gives as good as he gets, swallowing him down and choking on Merlin’s cock until Archy makes him lose his composure and come down his throat.

Archy isn’t entirely sure when his hands go to Merlin’s hips, dragging him close so they can rut against each other like bloody teenagers, but he does know that it feels fucking fantastic. Archy isn’t the sort of man to brag about his cock, but he knows he’s above average, and he knows from Harry’s comments last time that Merlin is even bigger than he is, and he can _feel it_ , pressing against him with too many layers between them but still so obviously large that Archy doesn’t know how he manages to hide it, and in that moment all he really wants is to take off Merlin’s trousers and show him that Harry’s not the only one who can be a good slut.

He forces himself to push Merlin away, not far, just enough that they aren’t pressed together from chest to thigh. Merlin tilts his head in curiosity, and it takes a great deal of effort for Archy to make himself sound collected when he says, “Sorry, but much more of that and I would be coming in my pants like a fucking kid. I don’t want to disappoint Harry like that, do you?”

Harry makes a little whining sound in the back of his throat, and Merlin and Archy both grin at him. He’s shoved his trousers and pants down, hand wrapped around his cock, the tip positively dripping with pearly precum and the shaft glistening as his strokes spread it.

“Aye,” Merlin rumbles. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint him. Hand off your cock, Harry.”

Harry whines again, and Merlin arches one eyebrow. Archy appreciates the way Harry stiffens, immediately releasing his erection. Merlin smiles, and his fingers wrap around the front of Archy’s shirt, dragging him in for another kiss, this one slower and more sensual, before releasing him. “He’s all yours,” he murmurs.

“Well, not _all_ mine,” Archy whispers back, “but I’ll take very good care of him.”

“I’m counting on it.”

It takes a few deep breaths for Archy to get himself under control, his cock not softening but at least becoming less of a pressing concern as his blood cools from a full-on boil to a low simmer. He addresses Harry, “Why don’t we get your clothes off while Merlin gets the scarves, hmm?”

Harry nods, and Merlin obligingly moves to the closet while Archy pulls Harry upright, working his buttons open. Harry moves to help and Archy catches his hand, moving it back to his side. “Stay still for me,” he murmurs, and Harry freezes, only moving when Archy guides him, the shirt slipping from his shoulders and getting tangled at the wrists, the buttoned cuffs too narrow for it to slip off. Archy leaves it for the time being, moving on to Harry’s trousers. He ignores Harry’s cock, sliding his open trousers down his hips and kneeling in front of Harry, who sucks in a sharp breath but stays still. Archy grins up at him through his eyelashes, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He eases Harry’s pants down too, fingers curling around Harry’s ankle to help him step out of them one foot at a time. Then he reaches up and presses a soft kiss to the head of Harry’s cock.

Harry keens, but like a good boy he doesn’t move, and Archy finally frees Harry’s arms with a deft movement and then rises to his feet. He looks towards Merlin, who takes over, guiding Harry back on the bed. Harry obediently offers Merlin his wrists, and Archy watches as Merlin secures them to the headboard.

“He was very insistent,” Merlin explains casually, “that when we bought a new bedframe, the headboard would be suited for bondage. You have to love a good four-poster.” He finishes knotting Harry’s wrist and knocks on the wood. “If we haven’t managed to break it yet, I don’t think it’s doable.” He moves on to Harry’s ankles, handing Archy the last scarf so they can secure both legs at the same time. Merlin strokes over Harry’s knee and asks, “Alright? Not too tight?”

Harry tests the bonds, tugging gently, and then settles. “Good,” he says.

“We use cuffs sometimes,” Merlin tells Archy. “Easier on his wrists for when he wants it rough. But you won’t be too hard on him, will you?”

Archy vaguely hears himself give the affirmative, but he can’t stop staring. Harry is beautiful like this, spread out and secured, the scarves a beautiful blue against his pale skin. Archy wants to trace every single mole with his tongue, explore the lines of muscle softened by age, find every spot that makes Harry squirm and sigh with pleasure. Merlin curls his fingers around Archy’s shoulder, and Archy looks up at him, accepting the soft kiss Merlin presses to his lips before Merlin stands and murmurs, “You said ice?”

Archy nods, and Merlin kisses Harry’s forehead, Harry straining up into the touch. Then he leaves the room. It’s a sign of trust, and one that Archy appreciates.

He strokes his fingers over Harry’s ankle, tracing the line where soft fabric meets skin. Harry shivers, and Archy smiles up at him. “You’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you, Harry?” he says.

Harry nods stiffly. Archy squeezes his ankle, “Relax. I’m going to take care of you. And Merlin will be back in a moment.”

The words do the trick; Harry relaxes against the bed. “Going to take such good care of you,” Archy repeats, more for himself than for Harry. Louder, he adds, “If you get uncomfortable, if your wrists start to hurt too much or you don’t like what I’m doing, you tell me, understand?”

Harry frowns, but he nods. “I understand.”

Something twists in Archy’s stomach, something urgent, and he says, “I meant it, Harry.” They already did this, he knows, but he’s suddenly nervous, because it’s been awhile since he’s done this, long enough that he needs to clarify, more for him than for Harry. “Tell me your safewords,” he says, because he needs the reassurance.

Harry understands, and repeats dutifully, “’yellow’ if I want to pause and renegotiate what you’re doing. ‘Prague’ if I want to end the scene.”

“Good.” Archy swallows hard. He strokes his thumb over the bone of Harry’s ankle. “Good.”

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. Merlin sets a bowl on the nightstand and murmurs, “Harry is very good about safewording. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Sorry,” Archy murmurs. He turns into Merlin’s touch, pressing his cheek against Merlin’s arm. “I just needed to check. For my sake.”

“I understand,” Merlin says. He pulls Archy off the bed and to his feet. “Do _you_ want to safeword?”

Archy shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He chuckles softly. “Sorry,” he says again. “Not exactly large and in charge this time, am I?”

“The circumstances are different,” Merlin says. “And Harry can be just as responsive under a gentle hand as a rough one. Can’t you, love?”

Harry nods, making a noise of affirmation low in his throat, and Archy looks at him until Merlin turns his chin with a gentle hand, pulling him in for a long, slow kiss. Archy completely relaxes under his touch. Against his lips, Merlin murmurs, “I think it’s your turn to get undressed, don’t you?” Archy obeys, neatly unbuttoning his shirt while Merlin slides his hands down to Archy’s trousers, unzipping him and cupping him through his pants, massaging gently until Archy shudders out a harsh breath, rocking his hips into the touch. Harry lets out another keen, and Merlin glances at him. “Just a little longer, love,” he says. “Let me play with him a minute.” The words make Harry settle, watching with hungry eyes, and it just makes Archy harder.

He shrugs his shirt off, and then Merlin helps him out of his pants and trousers, giving his cock a brief squeeze when it springs free. Archy goes to pull his ring off too, but Merlin stills his hand. He gives Archy a playful smile, “Trust me. Harry likes it.”

Archy glances down at the ring, a smile curling at his lips. “Is that so?” The interlude has strengthened his confidence again, like touching Merlin allowed him to soak up some of the man’s unflappability. He glances slyly at Harry. “I’ll have to remember that.” He looks back to Merlin and asks boldly, “Do I get to see you undressed this time?”

“Maybe next time,” Merlin says. “This is about Harry.”

“And I’m sure Harry would love to see my hands on your cock,” Archy teases, Harry letting out a sound of agreement from the bed. He laughs, “See?”

Merlin licks his lips, looking for a moment like he’s tempted, and then he shakes his head. “Next time,” he promises, backing up and taking a seat in his chair.

“I’m holding you to that.” Archy points a finger at Merlin, who just grins mischievously, spreading his legs to frame the bugle in his trousers. Archy swallows hard and turns away before he breaks, looking down at Harry on the bed. Harry keens, stretching up towards him, and Archy slides between his knees, parted beautifully wide by the scarves. He strokes a hand over Harry’s stomach and coos, “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? Can you forgive me?”

“Please,” Harry whispers.

Archy leans over and kisses him on the lips. He doesn’t let Harry deepen it and rewards him when he falls in line by petting at his flank. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Green,” Harry says, and Archy raises an eyebrow and glances towards Merlin, who nods in confirmation of the word.

“Good,” Archy says. “Perfect.” He reaches for the bowl Merlin left, setting it on the bed next to Harry’s head so he can have easier access to it, looking towards Merlin again with raised eyebrows when he sees the contents are smaller than the average ice cube and shaped like tiny umbrellas.

Merlin grins. “What? You wanted the ones shaped like dicks instead?” He gives half a shrug. “We have a lot of novelty ice cube trays. Gag gifts and the like.”

These ridiculous men are going to be the death of Archy. And that is a thought that he can get behind.

 He traces his fingers down the side of Harry’s neck, Harry turning his head to give Archy better access, and he follows his hand with his lips, pressing light kisses that get harder as he moves down, sucking and biting to bruise the flesh that can be hidden under a collar. Harry whines and strains farther when Archy gets to his pulse point, and Archy bites down hard, not enough to break the skin but enough that Harry really feels it.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. He moves on, twisting a nipple curiously, and Harry responds perfectly, arching into the touch, so he does it again, then bites down and licks over it before giving the other nipple the same treatment. He works his way slowly down Harry’s body, cataloguing every reaction, the different ways he twists and sighs for every kiss, lick, and nibble. Harry whines when Archy skirts his cock, but sobs when he licks at his hip bone, scraping his teeth over the flesh. He scrabbles against the bonds when Archy nips at the tendon behind his knee, only stilling when Archy grips his ankle firmly.

His cock is leaking against his stomach, sliding wetly whenever he squirms, and Archy works his way back up again, lapping curiously at the salty precum decorating Harry’s torso. Harry struggles to turn into the motion, trying to get Archy’s lips and tongue nearer the head of his cock, red and pulsing, but Archy pulls away. “Not yet,” he murmurs, and Harry whimpers. Archy presses a soft kiss to his stomach. “Soon,” he promises.

He can’t imagine Merlin is getting as much out of this as he is, but when he chances a look towards him, the other man is leaning forward in his chair, fingers curled tightly around his thighs. Archy thinks he might be holding his breath. He grins and catches Merlin’s eye, holding the contact as he licks another stripe up Harry’s torso, and Merlin’s tongue darts out across his lips, like he can taste Harry’s skin by watching Archy do it.

Archy turns his attention back towards Harry, whose eyes have fluttered shut under his ministrations. He keeps his right hand on Harry’s stomach, and reaches for the bowl with his left hand.

He’s not ambidextrous, but he’s close enough to it for this, plucking one of the smaller pieces of ice - a broken handle, he thinks - out of the bowl and whispering, “Open your mouth, Harry.”

He does, sticking out his tongue like it’s instinctual, and Archy lays the piece of ice against it. Harry shudders, tongue darting back into his mouth, and Archy curls his left hand warningly around Harry’s throat. “I didn’t say you could close it.”

Harry’s lips fall open again, but his eyes stay shut. Archy can feel his heartbeat fluttering under his hand, and he squeezes, just slightly. Harry’s breath catches, and Archy releases him immediately, blinking in surprise when Harry instantly tips his head back, like he’s searching for the touch. He puts his hand back, and Harry makes a sound not far off from a purr.

“Oh, you perfect creature,” Archy breathes. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, because this is so much better. He strokes his thumb along the flesh, feeling Harry swallow – or try to with his tongue still out. The ice has melted by now, and Archy pulls his hand away, feeding Harry three of his fingers. “Suck.”

Harry’s mouth snaps shut, his cheeks hollowing as he eagerly obeys, and Merlin wasn’t kidding about the ring because Archy feels Harry’s tongue work over that finger in particular. He pulls his hand free, and Harry opens his eyes as Archy strokes the wet fingers down his chest, leaving glistening lines of saliva in their wake.

“You’re a treasure,” Archy tells him. “Such a perfect little slut.” He strokes Harry’s hair back out of his face, and Harry’s eyes close again as he leans into it. “So good for me,” Archy murmurs. He fishes out another ice cube – using his dominant hand this time – and traces Harry’s lips with the tapered end of it. They part slightly, and Archy uses his tongue to follow the same path, licking the water off. He slides the ice lower, following the path with his tongue, down Harry’s neck and into the valley of his chest. Harry shudders, breathing turning shallow, and Archy grins, moving the ice to circle Harry’s nipple, the piece small enough now that he can seal his mouth over it, and Harry lets out a startled cry at the contrasting sensations of heat and cold.

Archy hears the snap of a button and a zipper, and he grins into Harry’s skin. The ice cube has melted, so he pulls away from Harry’s nipple, giving it one last twist with his fingers – Harry makes a choked noise – before moving down his body. He fetches another piece of ice, circling Harry’s belly button with it before sliding it lower, and Harry gasps and cries out when Archy slides it ever so carefully against the tip of his cock. Part of him wants to push it in, to see if it’s thin enough to go in the slit, but he restrains himself.

Merlin clears his throat. “Harry, check in.”

Archy pulls back and waits for the answer. Harry’s eyes open, glassy and unfocused, and it takes him a minute to murmur, “Green.”

Archy presses a kiss to Harry’s hip as a reward, and Harry’s eyes shut again. Archy cups the ice in one hand and carefully wraps his fingers around Harry, stroking down so the ice runs right along the vein on the underside of his cock. Harry shivers and moans, arching into the touch even as he twitches, like his body can’t decide if it wants to move closer to or away from the cold. Archy slides his hand lower, cradling Harry’s balls and slipping the ice so it nestles right at the juncture, coaxing Harry to rock down against it with his other hand. Harry obeys, head tilted back against the pillow, face screwed up in an expression of overwhelmed pleasure. 

“Beautiful,” Archy breathes, and he doesn’t know how many times he’s said it but he’s sure he’ll say it again, because Harry is gorgeous like this, so responsive under his hand. His fingers are cold from the ice, even if he’s no longer holding it, and Archy slips them down lower, between Harry’s legs to trace over his hole. Harry whimpers and Archy shushes him gently. “Easy,” he murmurs. “There we go,” he says when Harry relaxes. He pulls away, opening the nightstand drawer and finding the lube and condoms. The latter he doesn’t need just yet, but the former he opens, spreading it on his hand and not bothering to warm it up before he slides just the tip of his finger inside Harry.

Harry whimpers again, attempting to rock down against him, but he has no leverage like this. Archy takes pity and gives him a little more, pressing the finger in to the second knuckle and twisting gently until he finds Harry’s prostate. The cry that bubbles past Harry’s lips is beautiful, and Archy presses down, rubbing against the gland in the hopes of reproducing that sound. Harry does, his cock jerking against his stomach without Archy’s touch, and he starts to sob.

“Talk to me, Harry,” Archy murmurs. “Tell me how you feel.”

“G-green.”

Archy smiles. “Thank you,” he says, “but that’s not what I asked.”

Harry’s breath is shallow, stuttering, and it takes him some effort to respond. “Close,” he whispers. “So close, want to come. Feels so good.”

“Good,” Archy says. “Want to make you feel good, Harry.” He wraps his hand loosely around Harry’s cock, giving it a light stroke, and Harry sobs louder, trying and failing to push into his grip, heels struggling to find purchase on the mattress. “Tell me when you’re going to come, Harry,” Archy says. He reaches for the last ice cube in the bowl. Harry is so out of it, Archy doesn’t think he registers the movement, so the cry that falls from Harry’s lips is as much shock as anything else when Archy pairs his motions against Harry’s prostate with his mouth, tapered ice umbrella on his tongue as he goes down, taking half of Harry’s cock in one go.

He bobs his head, not trying to deep-throat him, working instead for the sensation of ice slipping against Harry’s skin as it melts on his tongue, the heat scorching them both, and when Archy gives a particularly firm rub over Harry’s prostate at the same time he swipes his tongue – and the last shreds of the ice cube – over the slit of Harry’s cock, Harry gasps frantically, “Oh god, I’m gonna-“

He breaks off into a whine as Archy pulls away, his cock falling against his stomach, his hole clenching as he tries, possibly involuntarily, to stop Archy from withdrawing. He thrashes against his bonds, and Archy pets at his hip and soothes, “Shh. Shh, it’s okay.” There are actual tears streaming down Harry’s cheeks, and Archy wipes them away gently. “Check in?” he asks, before Merlin can.

Harry presses in to Archy’s touch, still crying, but finally he manages, “Green. Please, Archy, I need-“

“I know.” Archy kisses Harry’s forehead, then his lips. “You want me to fuck you now? You want me to make you come on my cock?”

Harry nods shakily, and Archy kisses him again. “Beautiful,” he says.

He gets more lube, warming it this time, and Harry hisses as Archy slips two fingers inside him, stretching him out. Archy keeps petting him with his free hand, covering as much skin as he can reach because the touch seems to settle Harry. He coos as he works Harry open. “That’s it. You’re so beautiful, Harry, so responsive for me. Such a good boy.” Harry responds to the praise as well as the touch, arching eagerly against Archy’s fingers as best he can, moaning happily when Archy gives him a third one and then a fourth.

He whimpers when Archy eases his hand free, and Archy reassures him, “I’m just putting the condom on, sweetheart.” The pet name comes easily to his lips, and he resolutely doesn’t look at Merlin. If he’s overstepping his bounds with this, he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to ruin the moment with Harry.

He tears open the package and rolls it over his cock, stroking it briefly to get himself slick, and then lines himself up with Harry’s entrance.

“Still good?” he asks. “Arms and legs aren’t too tired?”

Harry shakes his head. “Green.”

Archy nods, pleased. Then he puts one hand on Harry’s hip to steady him and uses the other to help ease him inside.

Even strung out as he is, Harry is as tight as before, gripping at his cock like his body is trying to mould itself around Archy. He shudders and takes a breath before pressing in further, Harry moaning and pressing down against him as best he can, trying to get him buried deeper inside. “More,” he begs when Archy pauses, halfway in and clinging desperately to his control.

“Just a minute,” he breathes. He’s clenching his jaw so hard he thinks his teeth might crack. He pets at Harry’s side, and is surprised that the touch is as soothing for him as it is for Harry. “You’re so tight, sweetheart. God, you feel so good.”

“Please,” Harry begs.

Archy takes another deep breath and then rocks himself in a bit farther, working his way in in incremental thrusts until he’s seated completely inside Harry, balls flush against his arse, shuddering as he tries to resist the sweet clench of Harry’s body. He knows Merlin has a hand on his cock, can hear the slow, slick sound of his strokes, but he doesn’t dare look over because if he does, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from coming. His cock is sensitive from the neglect, and it takes him a minute before he feels like he can breathe properly again.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts back in, Harry keens. Archy sets a slow pace: long, hard snaps of his hips that rut him right against Harry’s prostate. Harry gets his fingers wrapped around the scarves holding his wrists, clutching so tightly his knuckles turn bone white, tugging at them as he tries to entice Archy into moving faster.

Archy gives in. He can’t hold out much longer anyway so he lets himself go, bending over Harry and getting both hands on his hips so he can slam in, teeth gritted, biting back grunts low in his throat as he fucks Harry in earnest, burying himself over and over again in that lovely, tight heat.

“Yes,” Harry breathes, “yes, yes, _please_.”

“I’m not going to touch you,” Archy warns him. His voice is unrecognizable to his ears; rough and dangerous and calmer than he feels, like he isn’t boiling from the inside out. “I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to come like a good little slut, without a hand on your cock. Can you do that for me?”

Harry’s answer is cut off by a scream as Archy screws his hips and nails his prostate dead on, but he nods – or Archy thinks he does. It could just be shaking as he tries to hold on against Archy’s thrusts, the headboard slamming loudly against the wall.

He holds on as best he can, fighting against the temptation of his orgasm, threatening to overwhelm him after denying himself for so long. He needs to make this good for Harry, needs to make him come, and he adjusts his motions so every stroke hits Harry’s prostate without even trying. “Beautiful,” he tells Harry, panting and grinning ferally. “Such a sweet little slut for me, aren’t you? All tied up and letting me use you like a whore. You feel so good, sweetheart, so tight for me.” Harry moans, and Archy keeps on, “That’s it. Want you to feel good, sweetheart, want you to come on my cock.” He leans forward slightly and hisses lowly, so only Harry can hear, “I want Merlin to see just how good you are for me. Want him to come all over himself watching me fuck you, wishing it was him buried inside your tight little arse, ploughing you like a bitch in heat.”

That apparently is all it takes, because Harry shoots off, arching up off the bed with a loud cry and coming, painting his torso and Archy’s in white stripes. The clench of his arse is too much, and Archy follows after, filling the condom with a low groan. He thinks he hears Merlin come too, but there’s too much sensation overwhelming him to be sure of anything.

He gives himself a minute to come down, waiting for the lights to stop dancing behind his eyes, and then pulls out carefully, peeling the condom off and tying it, dropping it in the empty bowl to deal with later. Harry lets out a soft sound, but his eyes are closed and he doesn’t move. He’s trembling violently, and Archy strokes his hair away from his forehead. “Easy,” he murmurs. “How do you feel?”

Harry doesn’t respond, just shudders and leans into the touch. Archy pulls away, and Harry immediately lets out a sound of distress. Archy shushes him, petting at his shoulder and chest. “I’m just going to untie you. I’m not going far, I promise.”

Merlin joins them on the bed, clothes off, cloth in hand. A faraway part of Archy thinks about making a joke about getting to see Merlin naked after all, but it’s distant and unimportant. Merlin makes eye contact with Archy, who nods and sets to freeing Harry from the scarves while Merlin cleans him with gentle hands. Harry reaches for Archy the moment he’s unbound, surging up as best he can to clutch at his shoulders, and Archy eases him back onto the bed again but doesn’t stop touching him. He looks towards Merlin, asking a silent question.

Merlin settles on Harry’s other side, pulling him close, and Harry turns and snuggles into him. “He needs to be touched,” Merlin murmurs, and although he’s speaking to Archy, he’s not looking at him. “It’s grounding for him. Sometimes after lighter scenes he gets a bubble bath, but I don’t think he’s up for that tonight, are you Harry?”

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat that Archy assumes confirms Merlin’s point, because Merlin nods and says, “I thought so.” He looks up at Archy, who swallows hard. For the first time in a very long time, he doesn’t want to leave the bed. For all his jokes, he’s rarely a cuddler, but right now he wants to hold Harry, wants to be that grounding touch for him.

He hesitates, and then asks, “Would it be alright if I stayed?”

“I think Harry would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

As if to confirm his husband’s words, Harry flips over again and reaches for Archy, and Archy obligingly slides closer, allowing Harry to cuddle him. He stokes a hand down Harry’s side, then reaches for the blanket. Merlin helps him pull it up, and they settle. Archy’s hand is close enough anyway, so he reaches out and finds Merlin’s hip, giving it a squeeze. Merlin meets his gaze over Harry’s head and nods in understanding. Harry is already asleep between them, his breathing evening out into something smooth and easy, and Archy scoots a little closer, relishing the skin contact with both men and the way Harry squirms into him even in slumber.

He smiles to himself and follows Harry into sleep.

When he wakes up, the bed is empty, although that’s not the first thing he notices. The first thing that hits him is panic, because he doesn’t know where he is. It takes him a moment to remember spending the night, and only then does it occur to him that Harry and Merlin are absent and have been for a while, judging by the cold mattress and pillows.

He sits up, glancing around, but there’s no sign of either man. He climbs out of bed, searching for his clothes, but they’re not where he left them on the floor last night, and it takes him a little while to find the neatly folded pile sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. He dresses quickly and efficiently, then pokes his head out the bedroom door.

There’s still no sign of Harry or Merlin. There are, however, several closed doors, rooms he hadn’t had a chance to explore the last time he was here.

He’s torn. He wants to respect their privacy, he really does, but he’s a nosy person. It’s just in his nature, and it’s part of what has made him so efficient at his job. He won’t go looking in drawers, he tells himself. Just what’s been left out. That seems a reasonable compromise.

There’s a guest bedroom and a bathroom, but neither of those are especially interesting, although Archy is amused to discover that they own a bit more than the average amount of hair care products for a two-person household (and, given that Merlin has no hair, that means Harry owns a truly staggering amount). The last door holds more interest. When he opens it, it leads into what Archy assumes is some sort of office. It’s mostly empty, save for a desk, some speakers, and a chair in the corner, and the walls are papered with one of the strangest choices for decoration that Archy has ever seen. He’s fairly certain that it’s Harry’s office, because he’s the more eccentric of the two and Archy can’t imagine Merlin putting up neat rows of _Sun_ covers as decorative pieces.

He can’t help poking around a bit. He’s never been very good at keeping his hands to himself, especially when he knows it won’t get them lopped off at the wrist. He runs his fingers gently over the sideboard, examining the _Sun_ covers with interest, if slight bafflement.

“You’re looking in the wrong spot.”

Archy doesn’t jump, at least no physically. Slowly he turns, and Merlin is leaning against the doorframe, watching him carefully.

“Who says I’m looking for something?” Archy says. It’s not really a lie if he’s skirting the subject, is it? “Maybe I’m just…looking.”

Merlin takes a step towards him, and Archy freezes, letting Merlin box him into the corner, head tilted. Then he reaches around Archy and twists a knob. The wall slides open, panels parting to reveal shelves of frankly impressive weaponry (along with some lighters and oddly enough a few pairs of glasses).

“We know who you are,” Merlin tells him, before Archy can react. “And you’re not stupid. You were going to figure out who we were sooner or later.”

Archy steps into Merlin’s space, and Merlin backs up and allows him to move over to the wall of guns. He reaches out to touch, but stops short and draws back, turning towards Merlin. “What do you mean, you know who I am?” And he’s still not entirely sure who they are either, although tailors is looking much less likely at this point. But one question at a time.

“You cover your tracks well,” Merlin tells him. “But I do happen to be very good at what I do.” He folds his arms, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re not a very nice man, are you?”

“Well, I never pretended to be a saint,” Archy says. He copies Merlin’s position. “What exactly do you know about me?”

Merlin chuckles, “Oh, plenty. Born Archibald Williams, but you changed your first name to Archy legally when you turned twenty. You’ve been involved in London’s underworld about that long too. Formerly employed by a Lenny Cole, publicly a real estate mogul and privately a mob boss running a good chunk of London’s crime network. When he died mysteriously, which I’d make an educated guess that you had a hand in, you took over his empire. You and Cole’s stepson have been sharing the territory, working together. You’re close with him, have been for a long time. Payed his rehab bills, checked up on him when he was at school. And he’s not like Cole. Neither are you.”

Archy doesn’t get scared. This is what he tells himself when things get bad, the reminder he gives himself to put on the brave face and accept everything with the calm determination of a man who knows he’ll come out on top. He doesn’t get scared. Except he does, and he is. Still, he stays calm when he asks, “What’s that supposed to mean? And how exactly do you know all that?”

“I mean,” Merlin says, “that Lenny Cole was a power-hungry egomaniac who would have turned on his kin just to save his hide. In fact, he did. You’re not power-hungry. You’re looking for balance. And you’re loyal. You’d rather die than turn anyone else in.” He hesitates, “As for how I know, our organization has been monitoring yours for a while now. Nothing too major, not even enough to properly cross my desk. You weren’t a real threat, but we wanted to keep an eye on you in case Cole got any ideas. When Harry met you, we decided to do a bit of a background check, and the files turned up. I did dig a little deeper, but not much.”

“Your organization?” is the first thing Archy thinks to ask.

Merlin nods. “Kingsman,” he says.

“I knew you weren’t tailors.”

Merlin laughs. “No,” he says. “We’re not.”

“I can still sew if need be,” Harry says from the doorway. “But it is not my main occupation.” Archy looks toward him, and Harry gives him a half-smile. He offers Archy his gun back, handle-first. Archy takes it slowly, tucking it into the back of his trousers.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks.

“Because we trust you,” Harry says. “We could tell you already knew something was off, and you would have figured it out sooner or later. We very much intend to keep you, if at all possible, and we wanted to be forthcoming.”

Archy holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know any more.” Harry’s face falls, but Archy takes his hand, drawing Harry closer. “Plausible deniability,” he explains. “The less I know about what exactly it is you do, the better. You know the sort of things I’m mixed up in. If something happens to me, I don’t want to be able to give you up. Don’t want to run the risk. I’d rather keep all that well away from this, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees. “It’s even preferable.” He leans into Archy’s touch.

“Does that mean you want to continue this?” Merlin asks.

“It means,” Archy says, “that some day in the very near future, I’d like us to sit down and have a chat about what exactly this is. Because I don’t want any confusion on anyone’s part. I want to know where exactly I stand with you.”

Harry and Merlin exchange a look, and Archy thinks they both seem rather pleased. Harry smiles at him. “That sounds highly agreeable. But not this morning.” He steps out of Archy’s embrace and beckons him towards the door. “Why don’t you come down and have breakfast with us?”

Merlin clears his throat. “Actually, something came up last night. There was a bit of a problem at work, and they need me to sort it out.” He addresses Archy, “Feel free to stay, though.”

Archy hesitates, weighing the options, and then says, “I’d love to, but not today. Next time, maybe.”

“So there will be a next time?” Harry asks, and the hope in his voice does something warm to Archy’s chest that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“Of course,” he says. “As long as you and Merlin want me.” He steps back into Harry’s space and presses a kiss to his lips, then releases him. “I should go.”

It takes him a little while to actually leave, missteps and ‘last’ kisses from Harry and the insistence that he at least take a piece of toast with him delaying his exit for nearly an hour, to the point where Merlin is out the door before him. When he finally does manage to shrug on his coat and get one _last_ last kiss from Harry, stepping out into the crisp morning air, he gets less than a block before a voice stops him.

“I know who you are.”

Archy turns, frowning. He recognizes the kid as the same one who had been eyeing him in the bar. He’s leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, that sour-lemon frown on his face. “Well then,” Archy says. “I’m at something of a disadvantage, aren’t I? Because I don’t have a clue who you’re supposed to be.” He doesn’t reach for his gun yet. No need for this to end in violence. But he reminds himself it’s there if the kid shoots first.

Fortunately, it doesn’t look like he’s planning on going for a weapon. “See,” he says,  “when I met him, I knew Merlin reminded me of someone. Set my hackles up, you know? But he’s a good bloke. Couldn’t figure it out. ‘Cept it was you. He looks like you.”

So the kid knows Merlin. Huh. Not entirely a surprise, given that he looks like Harry. More surprising, and deeply concerning, is the fact that he knows Archy but Archy can’t remember how he knows him. “You got a name, kid?” Maybe he’s one of the Kingsman. It would make sense – why he looks like Harry, why he knows Merlin. But it doesn’t paint the full picture and Archy can’t fill in the gaps on his own. It’s frustrating.

“Yeah, I got a name,” he says. “Does the name Dean Baker ring a bell?”

Archy’s blood freezes. He twists at his ring and takes a step closer to the kid. “Who are you?” he asks carefully, because the kid definitely isn’t Dean.

“I’m the kid whose life you fucked over,” he says, and he lifts his chin petulantly. Archy recognizes the signs of someone spoiling for a fight. “You knew what kind of a person he was, and you didn’t do nothing about it. Guess it didn’t matter much, did it? Mob boss like you.”

“I am not-“ Archy cuts himself off. He doesn’t like to think of himself that way, but when he’s being honest, he knows that it’s the truth. And there are probably a lot of kids whose lives he’s fucked over – indirectly of course, he doesn’t let kids get involved in his business if he can help it – but there’s only one this boy can be. He takes a deep breath, “You’re the Unwin kid, right? Eggsy?”

“So you do remember me.”

“A bit,” Archy says. Admittedly less than he would like. “Fred…Dean wasn’t a nice bloke. It’s why I cut him loose. Now I’m sorry if your mum choose him, because he’s a loser and a mean drunk, but-“

“Are you fucking defending him?” Eggsy stares at him in disbelief. “He fucking hits kids and their mum, and you think it’s okay because she fucking ‘chose’ him? It ain’t like she had much-“

“Say that again,” Archy interrupts him. He doesn’t mean to, but the words burst out.

Eggsy blinks, “What?”

“He hit you?” Archy asks tightly. “And Michelle?”

Eggsy nods, “Well, yeah.” He’s cautious now, caught between that fierce anger and confusion.

Archy can feel that itching rise under his skin, blood boiling in his veins. There’s a hunger in his stomach that he rarely feels, that scares him most of the time but right now just feels so _right_. “I didn’t know,” he says, calmly as he can manage, and he knows it doesn’t come out right, because a flash of fear crosses Eggsy’s face before he masks it. “Believe me, Eggsy,” he says, gently as he can, “if I had any idea, I would have done a lot more than turn him out of my turf. I knew he had a bit of a temper, but if I’d thought he was capable of that, he would have been dealt with very differently. Please believe me.”

Eggsy narrows his eyes, but he apparently determines that Archy is telling the truth, because he says, “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Archy nods. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know my apology doesn’t mean much, but I’d like to think it’s a start.” He hesitates, and then asks, “Is Dean still around? You and your mum, I mean?”

Eggsy shakes his head, “I got her out of there. Her and Daisy.”

“Daisy?”

“My baby sister.”

“Dean’s daughter?”

Eggsy sets his jaw, that defiance back in his eyes, “Blood don’t make you a father.”

Ain’t that the truth. Archy is all too familiar with fucked-up family dynamics. His father was a two-timing (well, not two…there had been a lot more than two) cheat, his mother a drunk, and the closest he has to anyone left is a former rockstar-slash-junkie who happens to be the stepson of Archy’s former boss, who he murdered. Part of him knows he’s being selfish, wanting to bring Harry and Merlin into that, saddling them with his baggage for the sake of a relationship, but something tells him that they’d understand. Whatever it is they do, Archy is willing to bet they’ve got a lot of demons of their own.

“You work with Harry and Merlin, don’t you?” he says, because he wants confirmation on the other half of the question, now he remembers who Eggsy is. “Do they know you’re staking out their house?”

“I’m not staking out their house,” Eggsy says. “I’m following you. Making sure you don’t hurt them. Ain’t like I had anywhere better to be.” There’s a twist to his voice that tells Archy he knows exactly what was going on last night. Or, maybe not exactly, but he clearly has an idea.

The thought that he was standing outside the house all night, watching and waiting, sends a mixture of feelings through Archy in rapid succession. Shock because that takes a lot of dedication and a lot of free time, arousal because he likes to be watched and he’s never been ashamed to admit that (it is, after all, part of why he, Merlin, and Harry are so sexually compatible), guilt because Eggsy is basically a child to him even if he’s an adult now and he really shouldn’t have been watching that, hurt that Eggsy would think so lowly of him, and acceptance because he hasn’t done anything to earn Eggsy’s high opinion.

“Believe me, Eggsy,” he says. “I have no intentions of hurting Harry or Merlin.”

“You know they’re married, right?”

“I know. And whatever you think I’m doing-“

“I think they’re shagging you. I think they picked you up, decided to have a bit of fun, and let a goddamn shark into the house.”

Archy blinks, because that’s a bit uncalled for. “Look,” he says. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Harry and Merlin are aware of what I do. They figured it out themselves, so it ain’t like I’m misleading them about that. And even I don’t know where exactly our relationship stands, so I’d really prefer it if you didn’t make assumptions about what is going on between us. Alright?”

“Whatever.”

Archy folds his arms. “If you three are so close, why haven’t they done anything about Dean?”

Eggsy shrugs. “It ain’t like I asked them too. And it’s shifty, you know? We don’t-”

He cuts himself off and eyes Archy suspiciously, and Archy says, “I know about Kingsman. Well, I know enough.”

“I ain’t gonna grass-“

“I’m not asking you to,” Archy cuts him off, and Eggsy blinks in surprise. “I know what I need, which is that Kingsman isn’t too far off from what I do. Except I’m guessing on a much larger scale.” He grins, “And I’m guessing you lot put down guys like me. We’re the bad guys.”

“You’re small game,” Eggsy shrugs, but Archy can hear the insult it’s supposed to be in his voice.

He shrugs right back. “That’s pretty much how I like it. Keeps me out of trouble.” He smiles at Eggsy, “Look, kid. I owe you one, alright? Probably owe you a few, actually. Remember that. It’s currency in the kind of lives we lead.”

Eggsy nods. He looks suspicious, but Archy bets he’ll be hearing from Eggsy about a favour or two at some point in the future. He claps Eggsy lightly on the shoulder, and Eggsy doesn’t flinch away or push him off, which he takes as a good sign. “Do you want me to take care of Dean?” he asks softly.

Eggsy’s eyes widen, and he bites his lip. “I hate him. I want him dead. But I don’t know if I wanna sign his death warrant, you know?”

“I understand,” Archy says.

Eggsy clears his throat. “That being said, I wouldn’t mind if he got a visit from an old friend. Little reminder of why he needs to stay the fuck away, yeah?”

Archy smiles, this time more feral, vicious. “I suppose I could pop ‘round for a chat.” He doesn’t normally like violence. It’s not his style. But every once in a while, something a bit stronger than the, as Johnny likes to call it, Famous Archy Slap is needed to get his point across. He wishes he could say he isn’t looking forward to it, but he really, _really_ is.

He lets go of Eggsy’s shoulder and Eggsy nods.

“I’m still watching you,” he warns. “You step outta line with Harry and Merlin-“

“If I hurt them, you have my full permission to make my life a living hell.” Archy thinks that if anyone could do it, Eggsy could. Besides, if he ever did hurt them, he’d be beating himself up enough to not put up much of a fight.

“Good.” Eggsy seems satisfied with that answer.

Archy starts to walk away, whistling to himself, but then he stops and turns back. “But you can stop hanging around outside their house. Even I’m not that creepy.”

Eggsy smirks at him. “Up for debate.”

Archy laughs, flips him off, and goes on his way.

***

Merlin frowns as the alert pops up on his clipboard, and he stops talking midsentence.

“Darling?” Harry asks over the coms. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Merlin answers reflexively.

“Not nothing. I can hear it in your voice.”

He probably can, too. Harry is too perceptive for his own good (except, of course, when he’s being an oblivious idiot), and that applies doubly for anything having to do with Merlin. A thirty-year relationship will do that to you.

“Just got a flag from the hospital,” he says, and before he can clarify, Harry panics.

“Who’s hurt? Merlin, if it’s Eggsy-“

“It’s not Eggsy.” Merlin rolls his eyes. “If it was Eggsy I would have led with that. It’s Dean Baker.”

That draws Harry short. “What?”

“He was just admitted. Beaten pretty badly, according to the records. He’s unconscious for now. Doctors aren’t positive how long it’ll take him to wake up. Assuming he does, he’s going to be in a lot of pain for a good long while. And his hands are broken so badly, it’s likely he’ll never throw a punch again.” Merlin pulls up some of the photos from the hospital database and winces. “Jesus, that’s brutal.” He’s seen a lot, but he rarely sees the aftermath of violence like this.

He frowns as he scrolls and gets to a picture of Dean’s face. It’s recognizable, at least, even if it is rather gruesome, but neither of those things are what draw him short. “Oh,” he murmurs.

“Oh? Oh what?”

Merlin swallows. “I think we might be familiar with Mr. Baker’s attacker.” It makes sense. There are several of pieces of Dean’s past that correlate well with Archy’s. And although Merlin wouldn’t mind if he were right – he understands what Archy does, and Dean is still breathing, so he’s only moderately surprised to find he’s fine with the idea - it really is hard not to come to that particular conclusion, given the cut on Dean’s face.

It looks an awful lot like a very familiar ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Do I love that ring more than strictly healthy? Yes. Yes I do. And so does Harry.
> 
> There will be more. This universe has taken me over (there'll be a minimum of one, but almost certainly more than that), and next you'll get Merlin's pov because I like cyclical things.


End file.
